Adieu! I may possibly write again on Wednesday.
Your faithful
Ed. Rivers.
ETTERLETTER CCXIV.218.
To Colonel Rivers, Bellfield, Rutland.
London, Nov. 18.
Fitzgerald is busy, and begs me to write to you.
Your cottagers are arrived; there is something very interesting in Miss Williams, and the little boy is an infant Adonis.
Heaven send he may be an honester man than his father, or I foresee terrible devastations amongst the sex.
We have this moment your letter; I am angry with you for blaspheming the sweet season of nineteen:
“O lovely source
Of generous foibles, youth! when opening minds
Are honest as the light, lucid as air,
As fostering breezes kind, as linnets gay,
Tender as buds, and lavish as the spring.”